The Archer at Dawn

by Swati Teerdhala

  “Salutations, Uncle.”

  “Ah, none of that, my nephew.”

  Vardaan slapped his hands aside and, before Harun could react, pulled him into a hug. Her friend’s face showed an expression of shock before it quickly disappeared. Esha’s fingers tightened over her knife.

  Vardaan pulled back but didn’t let go of Harun, beholding him instead, throwing glances out to the crowd of nobles behind them. They gave little gasps of happiness at the warmth from Vardaan. As if they believed his little show.

  They both shared the same angular jaws and sharp features, a thick head of hair—Vardaan’s streaked with white—and short beards. Even their eyes held that same deep, penetrating gaze. As if they were constantly sizing you up. She knew they were related, but to see it in person was unnerving. How could two people from the same family turn out so different?

  “You’ve grown so much, my boy,” Vardaan said loudly. “I remember when you were just a toddler, running after me with your toy sword, begging me to show you sword fighting.”

  He gave a small laugh, and a chorus of titters went up behind him in the crowd of Gwali nobles.

  “I remember as well, Uncle. So long ago. What, has it been fifteen years now? A lifetime,” Harun said.

  Vardaan didn’t take the bait, instead clapping an arm on his back. “It has been too long, it’s true. I’m sad your father couldn’t make it.” A storm clouded his face. “Is he doing well?”

  “Better,” Harun said. “Just a passing illness, but we didn’t think it would be right for him to travel until better.” There was lightness in his tone, but it was clear Dharka was still off-limits. What confused Esha was the look on Vardaan’s face.

  “I hope my brother gets better. Looking at you is like looking at a copy of him.” The Pretender King’s face softened. “I have missed so much in your life—your first archery lessons, your first reading of the royal history, your shifting ceremony.”

  His voice sounded sincere—and Harun took a second too long to respond. “There will always be more firsts, uncle,” he said. “Maybe now we have a chance to see them.”

  No more than a couple sentences and a decade of pain in them. Esha had been the one to sit with Harun, listen to his heartache over his sister, the pain of having his uncle leave and betray them so deeply. Harun had only been eleven when the coup had happened, but he had been old enough to have formed a bond with his uncle.

  Esha wanted to believe this was another manipulation, another court move on the larger chessboard. But she’d seen enough pain in people’s eyes, felt it enough herself, that she recognized it in Vardaan’s. Esha knew about Vardaan, had studied his every move, watched his every battle tactic and political ploy. But she had missed a crucial element to the picture she had painted of him—reality.

  Reality was usually never the same as stories—as the Viper she should know that better than anyone. And the reality here was that Vardaan was utterly, completely normal in real life. He was charismatic, attractive even.

  Esha no longer knew where to put Vardaan, the nightmare from her dreams, the monster they hated.

  And that terrified her.

  A breeze gusted into the lower courtyard of the Fortress where Kunal, and the other soldiers of the Fort, were arrayed.

  His upcoming battle had drawn many soldiers away from their precious free time. There were rumors Kunal had gone up against the Viper and survived, or that he had killed the other soldiers to get the prize for himself.

  Kunal finished stretching and rose to his feet, bouncing on his toes to warm his muscles. To his left was a table of weapons. What would be the best to use? They’d get one weapon for the fight, but it would all depend on what his opponent chose. Alok was to his left, his second-in-combat.

  “Why is it that I’m always trying to prevent you from getting yourself killed? And that you never listen?” Alok said.

  “Maybe you’re getting old,” Kunal replied. Alok’s five years on him meant nothing to him, but he loved to rib him about it. “Losing that sense of danger and fun.”

  “You sound like Laksh,” Alok said. He scratched the end of his short beard. “I still can’t believe he ran away. Especially without telling us.”

  Kunal shrugged. “Perhaps he was scared of the consequences of failing.”

  “You came back, and you failed. Even a demotion is better than certain death from desertion,” he said.

  “Some people are scared of failure.”

  “But that wasn’t really Laksh. He had things he wanted to do here.”

  “Well, maybe we don’t always know people as well as we think,” Kunal snapped.

  “Okay, maybe we don’t. I’m beginning to realize that too,” Alok said, raising his hands in defeat.

  Kunal sighed, turning to apologize, but the conch shell blew. His opponent walked in, a towering statue of muscle and ferocity.

  Kunal took a deep breath and centered himself, focusing on the fight ahead and his goal.

  Stay alive. Get his commission as Senap to Gwali, meet with the team, and rescue Reha. Save the country.

  But the thing he was looking forward to the most was seeing Esha. Four days at the Fort and he was missing her fiercely. He painted her in his mind, the careless toss of her curls, and the small dimple at the corner of her lips when she smirked.

  The conch shell blew again and his opponent, Urvan, grabbed a long-handled mace and swung at him. Kunal immediately ducked out of the way. Alok grabbed a spear and threw it toward Kunal, who caught it handily.

  Perfect. Long range enough that he could hit his opponent without getting in range of his mace. He hated maces. They were weapons of brutality, with no finesse.

  Kunal lunged low, stabbing his spear into Urvan’s thigh. The soldier cried out but didn’t go down. Kunal spun around, aiming to land a blow on Urvan’s side, but the man moved quicker than he anticipated.

  He caught the end of Kunal’s spear and threw him to the ground. Kunal tumbled to the sand of the Fort courtyard, his spear clattering out of his hands.

  Urvan approached, breaking into a run now. Kunal scrambled to reclaim his spear and get to his feet. He dodged the heavy end of Urvan’s mace, sprinting out of the way at the last second. Kunal spun his spear in his arms, gaining momentum as he approached, knocking Urvan in the jaw with the blunt end and stabbing him in the arm with the other, before ducking out of his mace’s range once more.

  Kunal did that a few more times, until he could see Urvan getting frustrated—and confused. The Battle of Honor was till the death, and Kunal seemed to be playing with him. But ferocity and brutality had never been Kunal’s style.

  Urvan’s frustration caught up to him, his face growing red. Kunal waited as the soldier charged at him, a fierce yell tearing out of his throat.

  Kunal didn’t move a muscle. Not until the last second, when he thrust up his spear, using the force to knock the mace out of Urvan’s hand. Kunal dropped his spear and grabbed the mace, spinning and knocking the soldier to the ground.

  He went down hard. Kunal dropped the heavy mace onto the sand, happy to be rid of it.

  Kunal picked up his spear again and approached the soldier. To his credit, Urvan held his chin high even as he struggled to sit up, a deep crack in his armor displaying the gash in his side. Even when facing his death, he didn’t beg or ask for mercy.

  “Why were you chosen for this, Urvan?” Kunal raised his spear.

  “I skipped out on my patrol to visit my mother,” the soldier said, his voice low.

  Kunal stepped forward, swinging his spear and aiming.

  He threw it down a pace away from Urvan’s head.

  “I’ve won the battle, but I’ll hold no claim to this man’s life. That’s for the Sun Maiden to decide,” Kunal said loudly for all to hear. He turned to face General Panak, who stood on the floor above the courtyard.

  A hush of whispers ran through the crowd, the soldiers unsure how to react.

  “Accepted,” the general said.
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  Kunal sagged with relief, and Alok ran to him, catching him before he stumbled.

  He’d still be able to meet the team in Gwali for the Mela.

  He’d still be able to help save Reha.

  But beyond everything, he was glad he was still a Senap.

  Chapter 8

  The Pink Palace itself was a majestic dream, one that rivaled the halls of the palace in Mathur. The opulent pink stonework, pearl-encrusted ceilings, and intricate gold tapestries of Jansa’s ancient history were stunning as always, causing the main hallway to shimmer with light. Murmurs of appreciation could be heard from a group of young Dharkan nobles, those who had been too young to have seen the palace before the war. Esha should’ve acted as if she were one of them. Instead, she was stuck in an onslaught of memories.

  They were ushered into a guest wing Esha hadn’t been in before. One blessedly free of memories. When she had last been at the palace, during her dad’s final trip as Dharkan ambassador, they had stayed in the royal residence, closer to the center of the palace.

  Esha walked into her room behind the royal housekeeper, nodding in thanks to the woman. It was opulent, befitting a member of the royal retinue, with a large, plush bed, expansive windows, and an armoire. Vardaan was treating them as true guests.

  She checked the exits and entrances—there were two—and moved toward the closet to see if there were any hiding places, when a small noise came from behind her.

  Esha started and turned around, realizing there was a maidservant still in the room. She was a pretty girl, with a round face and a wide smile that instantly put Esha at ease.

  “My lady, I’m to be your maid.”

  Well, that was a surprise. She hadn’t had a lady’s maid assigned since she had been the king’s ward. And she had dismissed her last one over three years ago—no one needed to know her comings and goings at court, not if she couldn’t be sure of their loyalty.

  “I have no need for a maid.”

  The girl didn’t move.

  “I’m sure there are other nobles who would like your services.”

  “The prince assigned you a maid. I won’t get in your hair if that’s what you’re worried about, my lady. But I will say, getting dressed in some of the latest court fashions will require some extra help.”

  Esha frowned but couldn’t very well tell the girl that she had spent years doing her own hair and styling herself as the Viper and her many faces.

  “Most noble ladies are quite excited,” the girl said.

  “Most noble ladies haven’t been traveling for years,” Esha said, deciding on a modicum of honesty. “I’m no longer used to a lady’s maid.”

  “Traveling?” The girl clasped her hands together in delight. “Then we’ll have a lot to talk about while I get you ready. You’ll need help; the whole palace is buzzing about you,” the girl said, before seeming to realize she had revealed too much. Her face reddened.

  “About me? Why?”

  The maid started playing with her hands. “I shouldn’t have said anything, my lady.”

  Esha chuckled and waved a hand at the girl to sit down. The maid eyed the chair but remained standing.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Aditi, my lady.” She hesitated. “I didn’t mean to speak out of turn.”

  Her voice was deferential but there was something in the set of her shoulders that Esha recognized, a hint of steel.

  “I have no problem with you speaking plainly,” Esha said more softly. “If anything, I require it, Aditi. The prince requested a maid for me, and I shall accept one.”

  Aditi nodded, relieved, before bowing low.

  “None of that,” Esha said, waving her hand. “Tell me, when will my luggage be brought in?”

  “It’s already been brought in, my lady, and I’ve laid out two outfit options for tonight’s dinner. It’ll only be in the residence quarters and the king won’t be attending, so I’ve picked an ivory pure silk sari with a big maroon border. It has peacocks on it, no house emblems, so you should be able to stay neutral the minute you walk in the door,” Aditi said, clearly unable to hide a hint of excitement.

  Esha had forgotten there would be smaller dinner parties this entire week before the Welcome Ball and looked at Aditi with new appreciation. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad to have help.

  Aditi smiled. “It’s been a while since you’ve been at court, hasn’t it? I heard as much.”

  “From ‘the palace’?”

  “From the textile trader, my lady. The Dharkan prince and his court are the talk of the town.”

  “Is he?” Esha said, wondering what that’d do for Harun’s ego. “It has been a while, Aditi. I’ll accept a maid but—”

  The girl looked up.

  “Only if you are my friend first. This is a new court in a new country, and I could use some help aside from dressing,” Esha said, giving a sigh of reluctance. She liked the girl and the way she held her head up high, but it would be better for her to assume Esha wasn’t too keen on politics.

  “It’s not my place, my lady. . . .”

  “Please,” Esha implored. “I’ll not tell anyone what you say.”

  “All right, my lady,” she said. “If we’re friends, then I have to say that you should really eat some food before the dinner tonight. It will be hosted by House Manchi, and I saw their chef sneeze into the jaggery syrup earlier today.”

  Esha made a face and laughed. “Thank you.”

  “I’ll fetch you some chai and snacks.” Aditi moved to the door, whispering in the ear of a servant nearby, who nodded and bowed.

  “Will they always be here?” Esha asked, moving about the room and resuming her calculations.

  “The servants outside? No. But if you’d like—”

  “No, no, I’d prefer them not to be. And the prince’s room? Where is that?”

  Esha continued her surveillance, trying to figure out the easiest way for her to leave her room at night. Window or the door? If Harun was nearby, it would be easier for them to meet with the team.

  “Just down the hallway in the next wing,” Aditi said, still hovering over the seat Esha had offered. “He isn’t too far, if you’re worried, my lady.”

  Good, then. She’d also be able to keep a close eye on him. She didn’t trust Vardaan and— Esha’s head snapped up, realizing what her words sounded like.

  “Oh no, I didn’t—”

  Aditi’s face was still, but there was faint amusement in the tilt of her eyebrows and mouth.

  “It’s all right, my lady. I understand your concern for your prince.” Her voice was light, but Esha sensed an undercurrent of interest. Aditi was one of the prince’s many admirers.

  Esha didn’t have time to ask anything more, as the tea and food arrived—two pots of ginger chai alongside plates of pistachio cookies and thick slabs of dried mango jelly. Aditi bustled about, directing the servants to place the pots of tea and food on the various tables and then started to unpack Esha’s saris. There were scars on the maid’s hands, ones that looked years old.

  Aditi cleared her throat. “My lady, if I am to be your friend, I feel it’s my duty to let you know that the palace is buzzing about you because of the prince. It seems Lady Mati of your own court has told many others that the prince favors you and rumors have spread.”

  “Favors me?” Esha blinked in confusion.

  “For marriage.”

  Esha felt her cheeks warm and pressed a hand to her face. Months ago this sort of comment would have put a smile on her face. Now it was . . . confusing. She had given up on Harun, decided he was a path closed off to her.

  “We’re just—” Esha paused.

  “Friends?” Aditi finished, neatly folding over the pleats of Esha’s second-favorite sapphire-colored sari. “I’ll tell anyone who brings it up.”

  Before she could even thank her, Aditi bowed and left. Esha looked around at the cavernous room that was now hers, sitting down on the bed as she chewed on a pistachio cookie. />
  Rumors she could handle.

  The question was, what else did Vardaan have in store?

  Kunal brushed aside the linen cloth that separated Laksh’s room from the rest of the soldiers’ barracks. He didn’t know why he came here. Laksh wouldn’t have left anything, not with everything so out in the open and visible to all the other soldiers in his squad.

  Maybe Kunal wanted answers. Laksh’s betrayal had left him warring between anger and a fierce sadness. And in between, loss. His best friend had deceived him, torn an unstitchable rip into their relationship.

  Laksh technically had another moon before he would be declared “dead” to the Fort, so his section of the room was left untouched. A stack of building blocks in faded colors, a memento from his childhood. The gold comb he had been so excited about winning in a game of cards before realizing it was actually just painted gold. It was all there.

  Kunal sat on the cot, reaching underneath and patting the wooden frame to look for any secret compartments or hidden scrolls. He went on like that for a few minutes, carefully inspecting every nook of Laksh’s very untidy corner.

  A noise, a dozen paces away, startled him. Kunal stood up quickly as the door creaked open.

  “I thought I might find you here,” Alok said. “You’ve been avoiding me since you returned, acting as if everything’s okay.”

  “Everything’s fine. I’m fine.”

  Alok gave him an unamused look. “Good thing you haven’t changed too much, Kunal. You’re still a horrible liar. You know, something about Laksh’s story hasn’t sat right with me since the beginning, and now you’re here, in his room.”

  He came over to where Kunal stood, grabbing a small figurine of a Harran dagger that was on Laksh’s nightstand. “Why are you here, Kunal? You’ve barely said anything about Laksh, our friend, leaving. At first I thought you were disappointed in him for leaving the Fort. But there’s more to it than you’re telling me, isn’t there?”

  The torrent of emotions Kunal had kept at bay since Laksh’s attack in the jungle came to a head.